An Irregular Occurence
by forallthethingsimnot
Summary: HAYFFIE. This story spans the developing relationship between Haymitch and Effie, from her recruitment for the 62nd Annual Hunger Games up until the end of Catching Fire. Irritated or content, sober or chaste, there's certain to always be something to make each Hunger Games worth remembering! This shall eventually transform into an M, but for now let's keep it kid-friendly. R and R
1. Chapter 1

**Hey people. This is a HAYFFIE fic that will span from the 62****nd**** Hunger Games, until the end of Catching Fire. It will detail the development of the relationship between Haymitch and Effie; in much more detail than is present in the books and the movies. Anyone notice the sexual tension between them? Well, I'll get to that too. Eventually this fic shall transform into an "M". But for now let's keep it kid friendly.**

**Disclaimer: No, no….Suzanne Collins is no here. **

….

The sweat trickled down his skin, paving the way to the already drenched sheets beneath him. His head rolled feverishly, attempting to shake himself out of the boundaries of his altered state of consciousness that held him hostage. His arm twitched slightly, the visions plaguing him so vivid that he was unable to differentiate between reality and illusion. He jolted, adrenaline surging through his veins and forcing him to bolt upright. He snapped his eyes open, the darkness of his bedroom dreary compared to the vividness of his nightmare. Haymitch cast his head downwards, groaning as he comprehended the fact that he was finally awake. "Fuck." He mumbled, bringing his hand to wipe away the sweat from the back of his neck.

It must be getting closer to the Games. It always got like this as the Games approached. The carefully, mercilessly plotted annual month or so that reawakened his horrors into a stark intensity, that reopened his wounds, ripping flesh apart that left him so broken he would be rendered unable to even _attempt_ to begin living again.

The damp sheets were cold again his skin beneath his soaked shirt, reminding him of his hells that so taunted him. Sleep would not be returning tonight. Haymitch sighed, his head resting against his knee as his body begged for rest. But his mind couldn't go through that again right now. He pulled himself out of his bed, having to hold onto the wall to ensure he wouldn't fall back. A glance toward the window conveyed him it was still dark, although he knew by the length of his slumber that it wouldn't be long before the break of morning.

Haymitch fingered the hem of his shirt nervously, before pulling it up, over his head and making his may towards the bathroom. Fumbling around for the lightswitch, he shielded his eyes from the sudden flood of light. His reflection in the mirror greeted him, and Haymitch proceeded to eye it suspiciously. In just his boxers, the majority of his body was exposed in the harsh and unflattering light. His Games scars were prominent, particularly the one that ran across his abdomen, the one that almost cost him his life. It had been twelve years since he was graced with it, but it had never really healed well. It bothered him if he slept for too long on his stomach, when his body convulsed as he brought up the contents of his stomach, or when he engaged in carnal activities that got particularly rough. His hair was badly in need of a cut, almost reaching his shoulders. But Haymitch was against anyone else touching his hair, and so he compelled himself to cut it himself on rare instances. His face still retained the presence of youth, but was marred by the lines of anxiousness and worry. He huffed slightly, his body simply a physical manifestation of the turmoil beneath. But there was nothing he could do about it.

The shower cleansed his body and soothed his manic mind, yet stung against the cuts and scars that reacted to the water's presence. The sweat was removed from his pores, and his hair received a cleaning from the water that batted unrelentingly against his scalp. He closed his eyes, his jaw set in a hardened line. The only good thing that came from this time of year was the presence of others. Despite the fact that it was not a presence he particularly enjoyed, it was better than only talking to his empty house. He emerged after a long time soaking himself in the water, clad only in a pair of boxers. He retrieved a half-empty bottle as he descended the stairs. The liquid burned against his throat, aware that this time of year called for the harder stuff.

Haymitch ambled around, glancing at a package marked with the Capitol seal that lay on the floor on the hallway. He eyed it suspiciously, his distaste at the Capitol seal taking a back seat to the curiosity. It was rare that he received news from the Capitol, and likely indicated change. He was right. The official papers served to notify him that the escort for District had been changed. The reason given was that the previous escort, Thalia Ephingstone, had retired after giving birth to a child. Haymitch smirked, unsurprised that the escort had settled down with a family. She was rather sweet-natured, understanding of Haymitch's horrors and never pretended for a moment more than necessary that the Games were a jovial affair. Haymitch respected her, and was inwardly happy for her. The following passage of the letter indicated who the new escort was. _Effie Trinket_: a new escort barely out of the prestigious "Games Academy" that, in Haymitch's view; was just a further extension of the tyrannical indoctrination that the government awarded Panem.

Enclosed were some general information on the new escort, including her age, which in particular caught Haymitch's attention. She was just _twenty_. Haymitch snickered. She was younger than him by a long shot. Eight long years to be exact. To Haymitch, she was just a child. _This is going to be fun, _Haymitch thought. He took another slug from his bottle, scanning through the gabble that continued on laboriously in the letter.

Morning dawned; the birds began chattering and the soft pastel lights of dawn filled the sky. Haymitch finished the Capitol garbage, and tossed it aside carelessly, returning to the bottle. He rested his head against the sofa, and allowed his eyes to close over. He wouldn't permit himself to sleep, but he could at least rest for a second. It soothed him, and he continued downing the contents of the bottle with an acquired ease that only developed from experience.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered a faint sound that resembled a knocking. His brow furrowed, and he realised he'd fallen into an uneasy slumber. But he can't have been out for long, for his hair that he had failed to dry off was still damp. _Knock knock knock._ It finally occurred to him that the knocking was indeed at his door, and he rose out of the sofa, trailing his bottle in his hand alongside. He snapped open the door. "What?" He greeted in annoyance, his gaze harsh throwing the visitor off-guard, as she took a tentative step back.

It was not just his demeanour that had shocked her. Her widened eyes gazed him up and down, taking in the fact that he stood there, bottle in hand, dressed in nothing but a pair of black boxers that; thank god, were fairly loose. She felt herself blush fiercely, aware of the redness that was sure to permeate through her dense layer of carefully-applied cosmetics. Haymitch glanced down; wondering if perhaps he had a wound bleeding that had struck the woman into shock. "What!" He repeated eagerly, with traces of exacerbation evident in his raised tone. Effie Trinket pulled herself out of her shocked state, and struggled to introduce herself. "I-I…" Her throat constricted, and she swallowed hurriedly as her cheeks drained of all colour. Haymitch quirked an eyebrow at her. "Mr Abernathy." She stammered finally. "Oh." He replied. "Wrong house." Relief flooded over her and she looked as though she was about to grin in faked embarrassment. Haymitch stifled a smirk. "I'm kidding."

Dazed and confused, Effie struggled to hide the mortified look plastered onto her face, and found herself unable to make a quick recovery. Haymitch revelled in her displacement, having no intention of assisting her. _Think Effie, think._ On impulse, she held out her hand. "I'm Effie Trinket, newly assigned escort for District Twelve." Haymitch rested his eyes on her hand, and left it in awkward limbo before she tentatively retracted it. "You're Haymitch Abernathy, sole mentor for District Twelve." Haymitch raised the bottle to his lips, and could swear that as he did anger flickered momentarily in her eyes. "So we've established." He replied. Effie recognised the sarcasm, and pursed her lips. "You're not going to invite me in?" She spluttered, much too fast to be properly articulated, but anger lacing her words. Haymitch raised his head and appeared to consider for a moment. "No." Effie's mouth formed an "O" in the horror of being refused entry. She fidgeted momentarily, but Haymitch continued to stand in the doorway.

"Well, Mr Abernathy, today marks the day of the annual reaping, and I'd appreciate if you could muster up the _manners_ to present yourself to the Justice Building at nine o'clock sharp…today." She placed deliberate emphasis on the _manners_, and Haymitch suspected she had to bite back not elaborating more on his lack of manners. "What time is it now?" He replied, forcing her to break the harsh glance she had directed towards him to look at her wristwatch. "It's twenty-four minutes past eight."

Haymitch nodded slightly, but didn't respond past that, and continued to stand in the doorway. Effie's glance darted around, trying to locate a safe place to maintain her gaze as the blush returned to her cheeks at Haymitch's state. He bent slightly towards her, causing her eyes to widen. His voice was lowered considerably. "The justice building is over there." He said, indicating towards the town. Effie swallowed hard, embarrassment and anger fighting for dominance. "Oh. Yes." Her mouth was left partly ajar as she took a step back, before turning in her high heels to exit. Haymitch watched her go, a smirk tugging at his lips. He couldn't tell whether she was an improvement or a downgrade from the previous escort. He shrugged, shutting the door behind him and began to prepare for the arduous parade that was The 62nd Hunger Games.

….

**Well, there is the first instalment. I have lots of little scenes and ideas jotted down, so review/follow/favourite or buy me pizza should you like this story to be continued. It's as simple as that. Thank you for reading! Ship the Hayffie!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sup people, here's chapter two. Shout-out to those who made their presence known through reviews/follows etc. Much appreciated.**

**If you haven't noticed already, I like developing characters. That goes for the tributes also. Too often I read a fanfiction, and feel no connection to the tributes. There's a reason we liked the ones Suzanne Collins conjured. They had personality! (applause). So, I shall try my best to characterise them aptly, because ideally, I want you to get attached! They deserve more than to be passing supporting character shadows that you glaze over.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine.**

**Enjoy!**

….

Effie's carefully manicured hand lingered tensely over the great glass bowl for the female tribute. Effie swallowed harshly, and tried to remember _why_ it was that she was here; in District Twelve, hovering over a glass bowl, determining fate. She had never expected to be in this position. It had been largely inadvertent, and on many occasions, out of her control.

Effie had always been an outstanding student, and applied herself diligently to her studies. Her family had always placed such a high emphasis on education. "_Education will set you free_" her father would say on lazy Sunday afternoons of her childhood. Well, right now Effie felt anything but free. Even her elaborately-decorated attire seemed to constrict her.

It was common knowledge that the very best and brightest of Panem would be accepted into the _Hunger Games Academy_, which trained up all persons for employment within the Games. From Gamemakers to technological engineers, escorts and designers, they all originated from being the very top in their field in Secondary Education. Thus, when Euphemia Trinket had completed her privileged Secondary Education at the prestigious _Miss Minchin's Academy for Young Ladies _at the top of her year, it was simply _expected_ of her to accept the offer from the Games Academy. It was unheard of for anyone to reject an offer, unless they came from an important bloodlines that had duties to perform. So, Effie accepted.

"_Education will set you free"_. The words echoed around her head, taunting her endlessly. It had definitely _not_ set her free. It had landed her here, plucking out tributes for slaughter. Over time the whole Games business began to revolt her. "Muscida Barker!" Effie announced as cheerfully as she could muster. There was movement among the sixteen year-olds, and sighs of relief flooded over the rows of girls as they realised it's not them. Muscida Barker shuffled forward, as the cameras frantically searched for her in the crowd. Unlike the majority of the girls, Muscida wasn't undernourished. She came from the fortunate Merchant class, and it was purely by chance that she had been selected. Children from the Merchant class rarely had to apply for tessera, and it was relatively occasional that Merchant children were drawn. Tears streaked her face, her hand set in a fist to prevent the shaking. Effie encouraged her towards the stage, but the girl was mostly in a daze, and it took several moments to get her to face the cameras.

Muscida's long golden locks fell messily around her shoulders. She was attractive, yes. But frightened beyond comparison. Her skin was absent of any markings: she was not expected to perform manual labour, and given her slightly raised social ranking, she had never been allowed to brawl or fight during her adolescence. Her fragile wrist held a bangle; not very elaborate, but marked with her initials. Her upper lip quaked ferociously as she stared blankly out onto the square of her relieved peers. There was no one to take her place. There was no collective mourning. She wasn't really that much to lose. Her friends were few and far-between, and the only person who really cherished her existence was her father. Muscida searched for his face, but could not find him.

Effie moved onto the bowl for the boys, noting that there were considerably more names entered compared to the girls. "Tom Weatheringstone". The boys gave a thankful sigh, and Effie's eyes searched for movement within the rows. Unsuprisingly, Tom Weatheringstone was from the Seam, the poorest part of District Twelve. He emerged tentatively from the fourteen year-olds, and trudged towards the stage. His expression was fixed: he knew he was walking to his death. He knew it was inevitable. He had obviously thought this over. Effie eyed him curiously. He was handsome: with messy dark hair that complemented his fierce grey eyes. His thick brows and clenched jaw provided his appearance with a brutality that wasn't really him. Just by looking at him you could tell that every muscle in his being was being strained. _That's good,_ thought Effie. _Handsome gets sponsors_. Effie encouraged the tributes to shake hands, and they did so. "The tributes for District Twelve!"

...

The train moved swiftly out of the station, precisely on the time it was scheduled to, much to Effie's delight. Tributes Muscida and Tom sat awkwardly in the elaborately cushioned couches, and Effie did her best to attempt to put them as ease. But neither of the tributes were particularly interested. Muscida was fascinated by the ornate richness of the main cabin: she had never seen such beauty. Muscida's father was a peacekeeper, and given his position it allowed him to shower his daughter with fabrics that came from the Capitol. She had her fair share of beautiful, rich things; but nothing she had seen compared to this. It was exquisite: the candleholders, the curtains, the wall decorations. Everything screamed perfection. Tom however didn't appear the least bit interested in the cabin, nor Effie's futile attempts at light conversation designed to unhinge his jaw and un-cloud his guarded eyes. It was not until Supper had come around that Tom showed any sign of being human. His eyes lit up at the glorious outlay of food before them, and Effie watched in disdain as a sliver of drool ran down from the corner of his mouth. He couldn't resist; launching himself into the rich fare, determined to try everything.

Dinner was mostly an uncomfortable affair for Effie, who had, at least before her meeting with Haymitch earlier, expected that they would work together at accommodate the tributes. However, when Haymitch stumbled onto the train minutes before it was intending to leave, he disappeared into his room, leaving Effie to entertain the tributes without the help of a mentor. She had been largely unprepared for such a turn of events, but she was resourceful enough to work out topics to talk about with the tributes that wouldn't be over sensitive. This mainly left her talking endlessly about the Capitol, and by nightfall she had enlightened the tributes on everything from hairstyles to architecture, parades and sugared sweets. She had exhausted every topic, and her cheery disposition began to feel slightly more forced as she battled to keep silence from falling over the dinner table.

All heads turned when Haymitch finally stumbled into the dining cabin, halfway through the duration of the meal. Effie felt herself grow uncomfortable under his presence, but made an attempt to appear pleased. After all, she did have manners. "Ah, Haymitch. _Thank you_ for gracing us with your presence." Sarcasm dripped eloquently off Effie's words, and through the wisps of hair that covered his face, his eyes met Effie's with such a challenging intensity she struggled to keep her composure. He sank himself into a chair, and began to fill his plate.

"Congratulations." His mouth curved into a smile as he faced the tributes. They exchanged confused glances, but quickly returned to their plates. Effie pursed her lips. "This is Muscida and Tom." Haymitch frowned slightly, but remained disinterested in the names of the tributes, and poured himself a drink. Effie stared at Haymitch, widening her eyes to indicate he should make an effort. Aware of her eyes on him, Haymitch purposely avoided her gaze, and selected various dishes for his plate.

"So…got any suggestions?" Tom piped up, his piercing gaze fixed on Haymitch. "Oh here we go." Haymitch mutters, rolling his eyes. From his reaction, Effie gets the impression this is common. His replies are too quick to be thoughtfully considered. "You're our mentor. That's your job. You're supposed to help." Effie turned towards Haymitch as Tom openly confronted him. Haymitch tensed defensively at the attention, and darts his eyes between the tributes, evaluating them.

He knew the girl wouldn't last longer than the duration of a day; he could tell she was from the Merchant class. Those from the Merchant class always fared terribly. But the boy, _Tom_, was fairly well-built, relatively tall, and challenging. He had attitude, and his face was handsome enough to merit interest from the Capitol citizens. He could stand a chance. Haymitch huffed, and dropped his cutlery back onto the plate. "What, you want to know how to kill others?" Haymitch's eyes assessed him. "Wanna know how to murder?" Tom refused to alter his gaze, and Effie swore she saw his nostrils flare. He was no killer. "No. I want to have a fighting chance. A strategy." Haymitch glanced at Effie. "Oh. Well, that's a first." Effie saw Tom's knuckles whiten in anger, and she predicted he was about to make a swipe across the table at Haymitch. She was right: Tom began to raise himself out of his chair, but Effie reacted quickly, and her cheerful tone cut across the silence. "Well, why don't we watch the recaps of the reapings? I'm sure that will help you and Haymitch devise a strategy." Haymitch glared at Effie, but she remained unrelenting. She had to help these tributes somehow, and having Haymitch come up against a tribute was certainly _not_ going to help.

The reapings were fairly standard. District One flaunted a reaped boy of Seventeen: Troy, and a girl of Sixteen, Bronne. Both were bogstandard: strong, heartless, with malice and honour glinting in their eyes as they strode onto the stage and thumped their fists triumphantly. From District Two came Gravston, with the female Enobaria, a ferocious-looking seventeen year-old who showed her glinting teeth at every opportunity. Twelve year olds were drawn from Six and Eight, and the boy from Nine was well-built and muscular, and Tom earmarked him as a threat. The Capitol seal flashed onto the screen, signalling the end of mandatory viewing. Haymitch gave a huff, flicking off the television. "Well, that's enough for one night." Tom gave Haymitch a dirty look, but eagerly left the viewing compartment. Muscida was quick to trail along behind.

….

To Effie's surprise, Haymitch did not try to slip away into his bedroom. Effie sat at the dining table, fidgeting with the dessert cutlery with no intention of eating. Her appetite had left her. Haymitch sauntered in, and poured himself a drink. But he didn't leave. He flopped down into a chair at the end of the table, swirling the ice around in his glass. Effie found his presence slightly comforting, and was glad the confrontational tension from dinner had seemingly diffused. Effie spoke, her voice reduced low to almost a whisper. "These tributes are going to die, Haymitch." Haymitch traced hopelessness in her voice, her eyes downcast towards the cutlery. Haymitch motioned his glass towards her. "Happy Hunger Games." Effie smirked slightly at his sarcasm, but it quickly disappeared. Her eyes reflected a certain desperation, and Haymitch momentarily wondered whether he had a crying escort on his hands. But Haymitch softened. She was only twenty, and for her, this was the biggest challenge she had ever encountered. And there was nobody to help her.

Haymith noisily cleared his throat. "There's a couple of rules you should be aware of." Effie met his glance. "Rules? I did attend Games school, Mr. Abernathy. I think what I need to know about the Games, I do know." Effie rebuked. Her smugness was of no surprise to him. _Exactly what would come from a Capitol girl._ He thought. His piercing blue eyes met hers. "Rule number one. No getting attached to the tributes." Effie grimaced. "Should've told me that earlier", a chuckle cracking her solemn expression. An amused look fell over his glazed eyes. He hadn't expected an escort to be so entertaining. "Rule number two. No interfering with my drinking habits." Effie considered launching a counter-argument, but bit her tongue. "Rule number three. No talking about my Games." The seriousness in his voice made Effie appreciate this was the most important rule, and perhaps the one to stick to. But as soon as the words had left his mouth, she found her mind buzzing with curiosity. Did she remember his Games? Or was she too young? _EscortsAssociated,_ the firm for which all escorts were employed had offered her access to the tape, in order to "get to know the Districts' mentor", or some such nonsense. Effie had refused, not seeing how watching a tape of their Games would help at all. She was now glad she hadn't seen the tape. Silence blanketed the table, but Haymitch didn't make any moves to leave, and Effie was secretly glad.

"Can we work together on this?" She finally said, as he tapped his fingernail against the glass. The words come out of her mouth before she had the opportunity to stop them. But she was desperate. She needs his support in this, because she knows she's not strong enough to go it alone. The _clink_ that resounds from Haymitch's glass finally secedes. "I don't have the answer to that, sweetheart." The nickname catches her off-guard, and she struggles to make sense of his words. Haymitch rises from his chair and takes the glass with him. Effie's breath constricts in her throat. She desperately wants this to work. She wants to give District Twelve a fighting chance. "Please, Haymitch?" He momentarily stops in the doorway, and shifts his head to one side to indicate he is replying to her, despite the fact that nobody else is around to hear it. "Time will tell".

Effie found herself tossing and turning in bed that night, as her mind feverishly analysed the conversation with Haymitch. She couldn't deny, no matter how mortified the thought made her, that she had let her guard down in front of him. Not her whole guard, but a precious fragment of it. She knew very well why. Because she hadn't anticipated how hard this would be. To ship these children to their deaths. To _chaperone_ them on their final journey. To carry out the Capitol's dirty business. To make it look glamorous, _fashionable_ even. The thought riddled and rooted itself within her, and the guilt welled in her stomach to the point where she thought she might throw up. She needed to change her tactic. She needed to keep up her cheery cover. For the tributes. Because, after all, the best she can do is try to help them. And she hoped that Haymitch would be sober enough to do the same.

….

**Thanks you reading!**

**While I write this story for me, I post it for the satisfaction of others. No point posting if you're not interested, is there? Let me know if you're keen for a chapter three anytime soon. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the wait! I have heaps of narrative complete that I struggled to divide into suitable chapters. But alas, there is more ready to be posted very soon. To address RonaldGarcia91's question regarding the length of this fic: I plan to address every Games (through to the 75****th****, and further maybe?), with a bunch of small scenes, much like I have been doing. Sure, they won't always be as meaty and drawn-out as these Games, the 62****nd****, but I need some foundations.**

**Thanks for staying tuned, and special thanks for those who comment. Seriously, if you have an idea, or some criticism, anything really; just shoot me a review or something. I'm keen to consider anything.**

**Disclaimer: The characters and settings portrayed in this work of fiction belong to Suzanne Collins. **

The days that followed allowed Effie to fall into a more comfortable rhythm. The initial standoffish awkwardness between the escort and mentor had begun to dissipate, but she still remained largely unaware of where she stood. So, she decided after a long stint of contemplation to treat him no different to the tributes. Unfortunately for Haymitch, this meant an incessant reminder of manners and politeness, dress codes and appropriate topics of conversation. Effie was a quick learner, and easily adapted to the fact that Haymitch needed more of her help than the tributes did.

It was eight o'clock in the morning, and according to Effie's schedule, it was time to rouse the occupants of the train. With quick raps and calls of the importance of the _big, big day_, the train gradually began to communally rise. But once Effie reached Haymitch's door, she hesitated. Was it her responsibility to wake him? She debated inwardly, before deciding that she may as well wake everybody. She gave a strong rap on his door, and chimed her unnervingly happy greeting in accompaniment. But unlike the others, she was met with no response. She waited, tapping her foot impatiently. He was messing with her incredibly tight schedule, and she wouldn't allow it. She was not going to have her schedule interrupted by the likes of Haymitch.

Effie gave a frustrated huff, and turned the brass knob to slide the door open. The slamming caused Haymitch to jump into consciousness, and he snapped his eyes open groggily, in order to see a frustrated Effie approaching him. He briefly wondered if he was dreaming, but her annoying voice and slamming of doors was unlikely to be conjured in the realms of his subconscious. He let his eyes close back over, and tried to block out Effie's dulcet tones. Effie rested her hands on her hips and evaluated Haymitch. She wanted to scold him, but her eyes wandered. The sheet had wandered during the course of the night, allowing Effie to view the taut muscles of his stomach. Effie forced herself to pry her eyes away. _Focus, Effie! _

"Haymitch! Come on!" She bellowed. But he refused to budge. Haymitch emitted a groan of disapproval and turned his head away. "Seriously, Haymitch. We have such a big day ahead of us!" Haymitch brought himself up on his elbows to look at her. "Seriously, _Effie_, it's eight in the morning! Give me a chance!" He bellowed, mocking her tone. He allowed himself to fall back onto the mattress. Effie grew more enraged by the second, and she was determined to get him up. "Haymitch!" She shrilled, "I have a job to do, _you_ have a job to do…" Haymitch mumbled something into the pillow, and Effie got the impression it was not meant for her to hear. "Ugh, fine!" Effie grabbed the sheet and bunched it roughly in her hand, and was just about to throw it off when Haymitch grabbed her hand with a strength that rendered her actions mute. "You don't want to be doing that." Haymitch mumbled, turning towards her and cocking his head to the side. Effie watched as a grin formed under the wisps of hair that obstructed his face. "Because, sweetheart, I'm not wearing anything under this sheet." Haymitch watched as her expression transformed from anger to embarrassment to horror. She pulled her hand back and her cheeks burned profusely. She spun on her heel and left Haymitch alone, without saying another word. Haymitch snickered to himself and fell back against the mattress. Yes, he had won this time. But he didn't think that Effie was going to back away from a challenge.

….

In a weird, twisted way that Haymitch isn't quite able to understand, he's mildly relieved to reach the Capitol. It offers few pleasures: an overabundance of alcohol, food richer than you could possibly imagine, and company. Company came to Haymitch in two forms: there was _pleasurable_ company, the type he picked up in bars and at Capitol functions. Then there was the other type: the simple company of others that kept him sane. Something he couldn't get in District 12. It made the Games easier to swallow. Even Effie's company was strangely welcoming from the loneliness of his existence, even if she was always in his ear.

Haymitch can hear her clanking heels approach down the corridor. His eyes are closed, but he cringes at the sound and wishes that she won't come and disturb him. From the brief experience he's had with this new escort, he's gained the impression that _solitude_ was not something Effie had factored into his part of her painful schedule. Her voice is harsh on his ears, a demanding tone that never seems to let up. "Haymitch, _what_ are you doing?" He snaps an eye open to see her defensive posture at his open door. "What does it look like?" Effie gives a frustrated huff. "You are aware that you have a schedule to follow-" Haymitch is quick to interject. "I am, actually. You haven't stopped _harking_ on about it all day." But she doesn't leave him alone. That's one thing he's learnt about her. She's determined. She's challenging. And she has no intentions of leaving him in peace. "There's a reason for that, Haymitch. It's because you have commitments!" Haymitch rolls his eyes. He's comfortable here, sprawled unceremoniously out on the bed. But it's irritating to hear her jabber on insistently, and he's getting desperate to get her off his back.

He heaves a sigh and pulls himself to sit on the edge of the bed. "Look, sweetheart, I've done this longer than you. I know when I have to prepare for commitments without you constantly reminding me."

Effie decides to abandon decency and enter his room uninvited, making her way towards the wardrobe and pushing the doors back. "Well, the tribute parade is a momentous occasion, and you need to look your best." Haymitch sniggered and fell back against the bed. Effie scanned through the clothes hung neatly in the wardrobe; selecting ones she sensed wouldn't be met by too much hostility on Haymitch's part. Not too flamboyant, but enough to pass as respectable within a Capitol scene. "Tribute parade. That's sure to be a surprise." Haymitch lets his rant lull, but Effie listens nonetheless. "If I could bet, I'd bet coalminer costumes. That'd be a first." Effie knows he's being sarcastic. District Twelve was always coalminers, she'd looked over it in her tedious preparation for this job. But that was mostly due to the fact that 12 never received a decent stylist. Twelve was the district everyone wanted to bypass, but most had to start somewhere.

"Look Haymitch, I agree that the stylists for Twelve lack artistic flair…" "Artistic flair! That's what you call it?!" Effie smooths the selected attire and tosses it towards Haymitch, who catches it. "I'd appreciate some effort." Effie motions with her hands in what Haymitch suspects is a great reservation not to chew his ear off. "Please. Just smile, make small-talk, look presentable…and don't get overly-intoxicated." Haymitch meets her gaze. "I think the word you're looking for is _drunk"_ Effie gives a slight smile. Haymitch fiddles with the shirt Effie selected, and expresses his intense displeasure by sticking his tongue out at the garment. "Please?" Effie ventures tentatively. She desperately hoped this softly-softly approach would wear him out. Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Fine!" He moans. Effie's gives a jump of excitement, and claps her hands together. "Thank you, thank you!" Haymitch watches her display in amusement, before she finally realises that she's outstayed her welcome, and skitters out.

….

Caesar 's voice thumps through the speakers, jovially announcing the commencement of the 62nd Tribute Parade. "You know, my good man, that district of yours might fare better if they weren't so predictable!" It's a Capitol man, dressed in bright green pants and suspenders to match. Effie casts Haymitch a warning. He hasn't stopped barking in his ear all evening. The parade was usually terrible, but this particular year was testing Haymitch's patience.

Haymitch is tempted to assault him, _to teach him a lesson_, but if he does, he'll never hear the end of it from Effie. "Oh?" The man takes another sip from his glass. "It's just, they're always the same. They wear the same costume_ every year_. It's maddening!" The man gives a hearty laugh. "And what's more, they are always such skinny things, never any competition. It was just the other day I was talking to a man who said that District Twelve's tributes on average survived until only the second day of competition! That's the worst odds of all the Districts put together!" Effie offers a polite laugh, hoping it will end his rant. She sees Haymitch cringe and his eyes darken, giving him a morbid appearance, but he doesn't throw a punch, or offer a scathing insult. He dwells inwardly instead, and for a moment Effie regrets the decision to keep him calm. If anyone deserved Haymitchs' fire, it was the awfully dressed man in front of her.

It's late by the time Effie and Haymitch bring the tributes back to the penthouse. There's not much be said. The event was as to be expected. District 12 was as unnoticed as ever. But Haymitch was true to his word. He was amiable and cautious and didn't take personal offence at the ill comments from the ignorant Capitol citizens that permeated the parade. Effie was grateful. She bid the children goodnight, even stroking Tom's cheek affectionately. The maternal instinct in her wanted to desperately address the fear and desperation that she sensed in their glances, but deep in her heart knew that she could not. At times it was difficult to prevent her eyes from welling up with tears, desperately wanting to protect them.

"You know, an avox could do that for you." Effie remarks as she meets Haymitch in the kitchen area. But Effie knows full well he prefers to get his own drinks. He despises having someone wait upon him. He rejects the stylist and avoids having an avox fetch whatever he requires. She doesn't fully understand his philosophy, but she respects it nonetheless. His nuances are none of her concern. "I know. That's what they're for, yes?" Haymitch rests his elbows on the counter and grimaces as the liquid hit the back of her throat. Effie gives a slight smile. "I wanted to thank you. For not punching that man to the ground, or shoving your fist in his mouth, or whatever it is you would have done." Effie turns to face him. She's genuine when she's alone with him. She's sincere and honest. Something she would never have expected from the Capitol born and raised. But it comforts him. "What wonderful ideas. I'll put them in reserve."

"You know," Effie starts with a trace of cheek in her tone that catches Haymitch's attention. "I almost regretted your restraint back there." Haymitch struggles not to bring up his drink, and Effie breaks her composure too, cracking into a grin. "You don't say?" Effie rests her back against the counter and turns to face him. "Yes! That man was foul. I would have slapped him myself if I didn't have a reputation to uphold." Haymitch doesn't reply. He just watches her. She's removed a fair portion of her cosmetics, and she looks almost…normal. There's an absence of lipstick on her lips, and for the first time since he met her, he can see the shape of her lips unobscured: the plump bottom lip that parts from the upper, the colour somewhere between muted pink and red, the way when she smiles with her mouth closed, the corners of her lips turn downwards…

Haymitch meets her eye. She hasn't noticed his staring, thankfully. She's busy mapping his face to memory herself. Making her retention of him so clear in her mind she could conjure the image with startling precision with her eyes shut.

And in that moment, there is a mutual understanding and respect shared between Effie and Haymitch. There is no more awkwardness. There is only a silence. An interlude. That's what it is. For come morning light, their pretences will resume. On impulse, Effie raises her hand to his face, securing an unruly strand of blonde hair back behind his ear. She doesn't linger to consider consequences. She doesn't let him see her involuntary shiver at the sensation that strikes her. "Get some sleep tonight, Haymitch."

**I've kept this on the shorter side, because the next one's lengthy.  
**

**Thanks a bunch for sticking around. It might be a while before I get the next few chapters up, as university slowly sucks up all my precious time. But I'll try to have it up within the next fortnight. Leave a review if you'd like it sooner.**

**Oh, things will begin to heat up between Effie and Haymitch; probably within the following chapter, depending on where I cut it. You are forewarned *winks seductively.**

**That's all, folks.**


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